


Loosen Up My Buttons (Nice and Slow)

by SC182



Series: Attrition Verse [3]
Category: 2 Fast 2 Furious (2003), Fast and the Furious Series
Genre: Canon Character of Color, Deleted Scene, Drugged Sex, Dubious Consent, Infidelity, Intoxication, M/M, Multi, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-07
Updated: 2013-01-07
Packaged: 2017-11-24 00:07:45
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,280
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/628049
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SC182/pseuds/SC182
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A deleted scene from the Three-Point Turn sequel.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Loosen Up My Buttons (Nice and Slow)

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: More warnings just to be helpful. Let's see: dub-con, drugs, manipulation, slight d/s themes, rimming, and Carter Verone being Carter Verone. So raunch factor? Poetic verse from _Tyger, Tyger_ by William Blake. Title taken from _Buttons_ by the Pussycat Dolls.

The first rule of business is to always anticipate competition. With this in mind, Carter finds himself far from surprised when Toretto shows up at the newest flavor of the week hotspot he and Brian are haunting for the night.

Club Callisto isn’t the type of place that inspires conversation. It provides the illusion of space and privacy for VIPs but is as crowded as a club can get without the fire marshal busting the joint up. The attraction comes in the form of its drinks and the opportunity to keep up appearances. Carter’s nodded to more than a few acquaintances while Brian has put in the footwork for setting meetings into action. They’ve also engaged in the customary round of gifting and receiving bottles of Cristal and Johnny Walker Blue, but there’s only so much one can do with mountains of alcohol before it becomes a problem and passe.

Toretto’s arrival offers a welcomed reprieve from this internal debate.  Without seeing him, Carter knows he’s there just by Brian’s subtle shift in body’s language. He’s somewhere behind Carter but clearly in Brian’s line of sight, and that’s enough to make Brian _shift_   with _ease, worry, tension, relief;_ Carter can’t quite discern them all. Either way, he doesn’t like the implication.

He doesn’t like a lot about the things that the connection between Toretto and Brian implies. Brian, who can talk on and on about nothing, crow and howl in exhilaration when he’s won, has been unbelievably and irritatingly quiet about Toretto. And as Carter’s daddy used to say—where there’s smoke, son, you can bet there’s a damn fire. Carter wants to know how close to the quick did their entanglement go and how close it is to reigniting.

Before, he never worries about Brian having some fun on the side; Brian’s all loyalty with a diamond-like bleeding heart worn on his sleeve. As for Carter? Well, it has taken him some time but he’s grown satisfied with what he has, which is a first, because no one—until Brian—has ever left him satisfied with the one he was with. So the bottom line is this: he and Brian have a good thing going—a great thing, actually, and Toretto is adding unnecessary pressure to their finely balanced system, and, that, Carter can just not abide.

Carter already has a plan in mind the moment his casual sweep of the lower level reveals Toretto posted up at the bar. What appears to be some light flirting with two SoBe model types is a good cover to keep his eyes on the balcony above. When their gazes lock, Carter cracks a sly smirk to match the flirtatious grin and interested laugh being served up to the two women.

Toretto looks from him to Brian and back, and Carter’s smirk morphs into a full blown grin. Challenge Accepted.

He can tell that Brian is working up to say something but Carter stops him by declaring, “It seems he has good taste.” Which can mean any number of things.  The club. The women. Brian. Carter sipped his drink with the grace of a true patrician under siege. “You should invite him up.”

Brian’s expression suggests he wants to balk at the idea and loudly but he tries diplomacy first, showing that after all, Carter has taught him something.

 “Carter, I don’t that’s a good idea.”  Brian wants to stop this train from leaving the station but he’s too late. Toretto showing up here, when he could have been anywhere in the city, is too much like firing an opening shot across the bow.

“You should get him,” Carter repeats, “Ask if he wants a drink, we’ve got more than a few to spread around,” he sweeps an open palm towards the assortment of booze that could easily finance a new car for most people and waited for Brian to act.

Brian decides to be obstinate, “Carter--,” he tries but Carter doesn’t like repeating himself and he is determined to see this done.

“Get him. Now.”

Brian stands up scowling, swipes his jacket off the back of the sofa and goes. His signature cool cracked.

The hard part is over. Carter waits for the rest of his experiment to begin.

* * *

Forty-five minutes later, Carter takes a seat in the corner of the Brickell Grand Plaza penthouse master suite. The chair is in inconsequential—leather with an impossibly straight back that will undoubtedly keep him more focused.

Toretto spits glares his way, though his eyes are dangerously alight, pupils blown black by finely selected pharmaceuticals and the beginnings of a sheet of sweat slicked over his skin. He leans against the door frame of the en-suite bathroom while Brian noticeable sways as he attempts to remain upright though he clutches the glass top of the vanity with all his strength and shored up coordination to remain so.

When Carter arrived, they were already like this. Brian doesn’t seem to be aware of Carter in the least while Toretto tries to focus on him, his scowl ebbing and flowing with the tide of the intoxicant. 

Carter must look like a viper poised to strike but he won’t. He’s here to observe, and he won’t push. Whatever happens tonight is their doing though Carter will admittedly serve as the force that will assist them in getting over their initial inertia. This night isn’t for them; it’s for him. If they remember, that’s fine; if they don’t then that’s even better.

He makes it a test of stimulus and reaction. The stimulus being Toretto and the reaction, what he and Brian end up getting up to. The catalyst is something he gets Enrique to pick up from a friend of an acquaintance, who he knows more by face and reputation than firsthand. But the guy carries virtually a pharmacy on him, including a few substances that are known by single letter names or letters with vague descriptors attached to them.

Enrique picks up enough to make an elephant forget, which is too much for his needs. A small demonstration of sleight of hand later and Toretto and Brian will be following him like the Pied Piper.

The penthouse is lavish in a minimalist fashion. It decorated in such a way that anyone one who resides in a private area code would feel right at home. Carter doesn’t bother with any of the lower level rooms or accoutrements, just climbs the stairs to see the two tipsy shadows hidden behind a pair of frosted French doors ahead of him. That’s how he got here.

The slight buzz he built up at the club has worn off. There’s champagne on ice at his fingertips; a vintage that’s an ill picked selection compared to how much he’s paid for the room. So Carter leaves it alone, for now, because sobriety is needed for this observational study and what he gets out of it need not be tainted by the skew of alcohol.

When Carter resumes focusing on the scene, he finds that Toretto has drifted closer to Brian. Just as unsteady as Brian, he too grips the vanity for stability. Carter watches the exchange—the way Toretto attempts to convey his desire to leave through his hazy eyes and facial tics and sharp  darting, dark glances hurdled sidelong at Carter—and he watches the way Brian shifts again,  relaxing now that Toretto is in his space.

Carter doesn’t move an inch as Toretto wraps a bulging arm over Brian’s jacket to stretch across his back. Reels him in like six-foot-one and a hundred and eighty pounds of lean fresh catch, and Brian just goes, wraps his arms about Toretto’s leather motorcycle jacket clad shoulders and holds onto him like Toretto’s a living anchor.

This is a start, and Carter wants more.

“Take his jacket off,” Carter said indistinctly. Either is free to adhere to his directive.   

Again, Toretto glares at him, begins to declare that Carter can go fuck himself, but stops as Brian forces his arms back and the jacket up and off. His follows too, even quicker.

Brian’s attention seems to drop to the exposure of skin revealed by the loss of the jacket. And boy, does Toretto have muscles. Big round and solid are the words that come to mind. The black tank that covers him from shoulder to waist isn’t something Carter would deign to wear in public, because it’s too cheap and low class, but the rough look suits a roughneck like Toretto, and Brian, despite all the polish Carter’s applied to him, is still very much rough.

Toretto has decided to wrangle O’Conner by forcing his hands away and down from the hem of Toretto’s shirt, though he sways like a sail on the mercy of a high pressure system’s breeze, feet shuffling almost noisily against the white marble.

The scene gets interesting when Toretto grips Brian’s chin, drawing their eyes in alignment, and Carter can almost see what Toretto must find there: the soft flush of alcohol staining and overriding Brian’s golden tan, lips parted pink, shiny, and wet, fucking wetter after each lick; want and need just rolling off his skin; and his eyes—those fucking blue, blue, blue eyes that made Carter think in short bursts of poetic verse— _tyger, tiger, burning bright…in what distant deeps or skies burnt the fire of thine eyes_ —hypnotize like a siren’s call.

The moment Toretto loses his focus is glorious. His murmur of “Focus on me,” is all growl and primal base. And Brian eats that shit up. Just dives in and attaches himself to Toretto’s thick lips like a rebreather.

Toretto’s no slouch either. While still holding Brian’s arms, he closes his feverish eyes and speeds them up, which seems to hit all of Brian’s buttons by the utterance of throaty mewls and moans. He draws back, nipping and suckling Brian’s lips as he goes.

Carter contemplates how far these two must have gone before. He knows what Brian has said and what their chemistry suggests, but first kisses have a way of selling the kisser out, revealing too much, and displaying more than a few chinks in the armor.

The way Toretto bites at his bottom lip is a trick that Carter recognizes. It’s the most important part of Act One—the Build-up, where Brian’s mouth proves to be another wonder about him.

“Put your hands on him,” instructs Carter, “use leverage if you have to.”

Carter reminisces, replaying an old memory of a terribly hot afternoon post-tropical storm landfall where the electricity went out and the walls of the mansion offered far more unexpected but suitable entertainment.

This time Toretto’s look is a glancing blow, just slides off of Carter as his attention returns to Brian, who is completely open to suggestion. Brian’s fingers gradually draw the cotton edge of the tank up, revealing more inches of Toretto’s sculpted flesh and pelvic grooves deep enough to bury treasure. But he stops suddenly, caught off-guard by Toretto reigniting the kissing and steering Brian’s body to better fit against his. Brian’s shirt, custom and perfect for him, is sacrificed under the combined action of Toretto’s balled up fist in the fabric and Brian’s impatience with the buttons.

It’s not a loss that Carter will mourn. Not when Brian is half naked, and, now, half-way through a fight with his belt and pants. Toretto’s greedy for skin; every inch that he can get, his hands cover it and handle Brian’s corners and lean stretches of muscle with the same dexterity as one of his cars.

If Toretto is this hungry for him when he’s only got half the package, Carter wonders how he’ll react once he gets the full platter. “Off. All of it. Now.” Ordering them around is easy, because they are pliable as hell and, like this, everything sounds like a good idea.

By magic or superspeed, shoes and socks are not an issue as Brian’s trousers drop to the floor. Then he’s left in his short grey boxer-briefs that set his second best assets in stark relief. The back view is almost as spectacular as the front. Almost. Not quite. Brian has a perfect pair of broad shoulders that connect with a strong back covered by almost flawless peachy-tan skin. Carter has seen the scars, small and faded that put the _flaw_ in flawless.

Then his ass.

So high, tight and round. So perfectly masculine that it should be used as a model for a universally exceptional ass. His second or possibly his third best feature; one that is being handled not too carefully by Toretto’s big hands at the moment.

Carter continues to sit, now with his legs spread wide, because he needs all the room he can get. Like anyone else, he has his share of kinks, and Brian being near buck naked with him in all his clothes is a near gold star wood maker.

Brian is by no means passive. He encourages Toretto to touch him with clipped gasps of “Here,” and “Now, here,” and “Yeah, right there.” And Toretto follows his lead; his hands mapping out new territory from Brian’s messy blond locks to his neck and down his back, around his waist, and finally over his ass.

Toretto shoves his thigh between Brian’s legs, on which Brian slides and rocks down into it. Then, fuck, they’re grinding together like two cogs in a well-oiled machine.

Carter instantly knows what he wants next.

He digs his fingers into the fine leather of his seat because he refuses to engage in a more active form of voyeurism. Maybe, later when Toretto is not around and Carter is feeling like rewriting history or improving on the tricks he’s learned. But not now.  

He licks his lips, his mouth suddenly gone dry. Because Toretto’s started to peel back the rim of those shorts, exposing the initial rise of the swell of that glorious ass and those hips, which beg to be clutched and bruised.

“The wall. Go to the wall. Use it,” Carter orders, then adds, “Before either of you falls down.”

There’s no protest from either, just a reaction to his suggestion. There’s a vacant stretch of wall Toretto navigates them to, and the view now gives Carter his first look at Brian tripping and on the cusp of being fucked out. He is the definition of obscene.

Carter can feel jealousy begin to roil and bubble at his core. This is his idea and he’ll see it through, but he realizes that he’s seen Brian look many ways with him— _happy, satisfied, aroused, furious, nonchalant_ —but _this_ , so out of control and wild is entirely new. This is the effect of Toretto’s magnetism that Brian has hinted at. Because the substance—E, K, Q, or whatever is only supposed to lower their inhibitions; not take Brian from dry ice to raging storm.

Brian’s hands bracket Toretto’s face as they kiss with minimal pauses. The action is all lips, tongues and so wet that it makes Carter’s lips tingle for a taste. He doesn’t stop when his back hits the wall nor does he slow down when Toretto pushes deep between his thighs, just sets his feet wider and redoubles his efforts to hold onto Toretto’s face and neck.

Toretto is gearing up for more, revving up to let loose sans boots. It’s easy enough to be distracted by the interplay of tongue on tongue action. Brian sucks on Toretto’s tongue with far less aggressiveness, now it’s all sweetness, which Toretto chases and eats up and keeps stoking the flame between them. Hips churn round and round and reverse to keep the friction building, and Carter watches, drags his eyes away from the end of Act One to the start of Act Two.

Toretto’s hands which are big, wide, and sturdy enough to bench-press a Buick rove Brian’s skin like adventurers on a quest, full of deliberate seeking and careful exploration until he’s got Brian’s slowly heaving hips trapped between the net of his hands.

The tank is finally removed, pulled overhead and tossed into a corner blindly by Brian, who has yet to relinquish Toretto’s mouth. Then it happens. A simultaneous lift and catch that takes Brian from standing on the floor to riding Toretto’s denim-covered dick—back arching and rolling as he traps his feet against the interior of Toretto’s calves while Toretto holds him and drives him up and down against the wall through the sheer power of his thrusting hips and rock-hard dick that’s pointing at True North better than a compass.

Brian rides.

And rides.

Rolls with each swing of Toretto’s hips that are powerful enough to make the wall furnishings bounce and slide off-center.

He thrusts against Brian like a man on a mission to clear a debt. A fucking debt, literally. All that time and distance between them, plus whatever else fell into the mix, has simmered and ripened to this and is ready to explode now that contact has been achieved.

Carter knows the sounds Brian makes before coming, so he knows Brian’s almost there and the experiment is almost done. But Toretto eases off the throttle, just breaks the kiss and dives in for Brian’s neck which is entirely open to him as Brian cants his head back and sightlessly focuses on the ceiling.

Toretto slides his lips away from the mark he’s worked into Brian’s skin and up to his ear. Brian listens as Toretto relays some barely strung together thought and nods. “Yeah,” he says, over and over, “Yeah, yeah, yeah…”

And then Toretto carries Brian—all of him to the bed like he’s light as a feather and they collapse on it. Toretto makes his home between Brian’s legs again and shifts and slides until he finds the right of friction to set his hips to their rhythm again.

The kissing resumes faster and harder, though barely an interlude as compared to before. Toretto makes a show of teasing Brian’s chest, tonguing the shallow groove of his breastbone before lapping and sucking Brian’s nipples—small, dusky rosy nubs that got harder and harder under his tongue—like they were the best tits that money could buy.

And Brian? Ate it up, head tossed back, hips bucking and arms scrambling to grab Toretto who seems to be on a slow path down. Toretto who peels back Brian’s shorts painfully slowly taking tentative kittenish licks over the head of Brian’s dick that’s wet with pre-come and down his shaft.

The moment Brian’s balls hit the air, Toretto’s got his mouth on them, stuffed full and Brian’s fucking crying over it. Just being driven out of his goddamn mind by Toretto’s tongue and the hot, wet _slurp, smack, suck_ that fills the steamy air of the suite. 

Carter has always enjoyed watching Brian lose it. Watch him lose it for him, that is. But now the only thing that comes to mind as Toretto slides off those come and spit soaked shorts is how much of slut Brian is. With his head tossed back and legs splaying willingly to Toretto’s physical commands, he looks so wild and needy, and bucks up into Toretto’s mouth and fingers like he can’t help himself. Like he’s bespelled and the only thing capable of saving him from burning is Toretto fucking him into the next eternity.

Toretto pulls off Brian’s dick with a wettest pop Carter’s heard outside of porn. While Brian’s dick remains flushed and leaking and aimed like missile at his stomach, waiting for the slightest stimulus to shoot all over the place.  But Toretto abandons Brian’s dick by sliding farther down where Brian shifts his legs over those hulking shoulders and then, like the eye of a storm, there’s silence, followed by a shout.

“ _Fuck_!” Brian hisses like an angry cat.

Then Toretto proceeds to make Brian wet in the filthiest way imaginable.  Simply, he exercises his tongue in deep strokes and slow curling arcs over the tight rim of Brian’s hole, which Carter knows can be very accommodating. Very.  Maybe he resumes his whispering or spells out the alphabet. Whatever he does, it causes Brian to howl, just moan like a virgin being touched for the first time or a whore finding a new religion.

Brian, fucking slut, rides it out, presses deeper as Toretto rubs his thighs and fingers him deep.

Carter has done this before once or twice but apparently not enough. But he has tongue-fucked him and savored every second of watching him lose his shit and become a wrung-out, boneless mess.

Act Three begins with a smoother transition. Toretto backs off gradually and takes the reverse course up the length of Brian’s body. He fists Brian’s cock as Brian makes short work of getting him fully naked. The man is wide as a house and built like a tank and Brian rolls over for him without so much as a blink.

Once on his hands and knees, Toretto curls over Brian’s back without an ounce of roughness that necessity dictates. His mouth takes up residence below Brian’s ear, where he whispers low and gruff to Brian, who responds in unintelligible mutters. Toretto didn’t strike him as the whispering type, but he hardly knows the guy, besides knowing what he will and won’t do is the purpose of this experiment.

He’s fucked Brian more times than Brian has fucked him. It’s an arrangement that they’re fine with, and apparently the tradition is set to continue here, where Toretto’s prepping to line up and drive that monster—thick like a flesh baseball bat—home. All the tonguing in the world wouldn’t prep Brian or anyone else for that sucker.

This is the part where caution speaks up and tells him that he should be concerned about Toretto attempting to rawdog his boyfr—his Brian.

Brian’s ass is his to smack, his to fuck, and his to own. Watching Toretto drop a heavy hand down on one firm cheek is enough to make Carter see red and recall just how poorly he has always played with others. Carter has never been good at sharing and watching Toretto thrust forward and up to bury himself completely balls deep is just a reminder of why.

He throws the lube and the condom that had been residing in his pocket for more personal usage at the bed, and warns, “Chief, suit it up or lose it.”

Toretto does as he’s told. Carter knows where Brian’s been for the most part but Toretto? This one could have banged half of South America and the Caribbean for all Carter knows. This is an experiment: nothing more, nothing less, and Carter is aware of how he’s hurt Brian before and will continue to do so, but it’s all minor stuff. All little hurts that Carter knows Brian can take. But he would kill anyone— _anyone_ who tried to hurt Brian. Why? Because Brian is his and probably counts as the best thing that’s ever happened to him. Not that he will ever tell Brian because Brian would never let that go and would become insufferable.

Toretto has the stamina of a raging bull. All that finesse from before has melted away, leaving raw urgency without the constraints of inhibitions to suppress the exponential surge of its power. It’s all primal, driven by nothing but the desires of his cock, the heavy weight settled low in his balls, and the flood of adrenaline drowning his senses with the feelings of _now, now_ , and _finally_.

Brian is so far gone that Carter is surprised when he manages to maneuver Toretto on to his back where he can straddle his block-like hips and resume riding that dick like it’s his only ambition in life. _Up, down, up, down_ is the way of this impossibly long dance.

And Carter waits.

Despite all other observations, the one consistent sight is Brian on the precipice of coming. Brian matches Toretto thrust for thrust. He never eases off as Toretto pushes him hard, just keeps pace and holds on, even when Toretto barricades him inside his arms and surges upward with rapid fire, precision strokes that tease and keep Brian full but never satisfied.

When Toretto finally wraps his meaty paw around Brian again, it’s only a matter of seconds before Brian explodes. He comes and comes and with a bitten back yell while Toretto roars like human thunder.

If Carter watches them kiss afterward, all lazily and sloppily, and feels irritation, it’s because this experiment lasted far longer than he expected. It’s also because he and Brian get sappy but not syrupy sweet like this.

Inhibitions or no, they’ve completely forgotten about him, and, as they kiss, it’s as though the world has shrunken down to two and only these two. Carter doubts he’ll ever lose Brian, if he does he knows exactly where to bury Toretto.

Some experiments are triumphs; others are failures. As he watches them pass out into exhaustion induced sleep, Carter knows Brian and Toretto shouldn’t mix. They’re too volatile, with consequences too unpredictable to count.

Whether Brian acknowledges it or tries to hide it, Carter now knows that Toretto is his competition. He’ll always be measured up against the outlaw driver fugitive.

He manages to smile again, full bright and optimistic. The champagne opens with a resounding pop that doesn’t cause the slightest stir from either Brian or Toretto. Carter feels a little celebration is appropriate. As for competition, it’s the driving he has to improve. He already knows how to fuck. Now he knows the secret is to just add more tongue.

 


End file.
